


LEGEND

by danu (orphan_account)



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi, Other, Wartime Violence, haphazard writing style, past rape experiences- not graphic, sorry about that, the kyoshi warriors are gay as hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 07:25:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6945532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/danu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Let's imagine that the ATLA storyline existed in a world with realistic depictions of violence, and realistic consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	LEGEND

**Author's Note:**

> The characters are slightly older because writing a 12-year-old in wartime would have been scarring for you to read, and equally scarring for me to write. 
> 
> This is the first chapter, so it's a bit messy. I'm trying to introduce all the key elements so the story can get rolling ASAP.
> 
> Last thing: Appa is Aang's spirit chain, so he feels what Aang feels to a certain degree, and vice versa. The bond gets weaker the further apart they are. Next chapter will start with Zuko! Also, ships are subject to change.

Her hair is dark and soft. Her skin is the color of caramel, and her eyes are chips of blue-gray ice, like the frozen tundra around her. She feels the ebb and flow of water under her feet like she feels the beat of her own heart. Beneath the thick permafrost, ocean waters swirl in turmoil. Oh, how she can relate to that. How violently the storm rages underneath her own frozen armor. 

 

It is near dawn and Katara of the Southern Water Tribe has not slept. Not in days. Her high cheekbones only serve to emphasize the hollows beneath her eyes. So tired is she, that the ground she stands on seems to sway. She can't balance with the ice rocking beneath her like this, and as she looks up, the stars begin to spin. 

 

\--------

 

She remembers nothing. All that exists is the cold, solid around her. All she knows is complete and utter silence, floating in this freezing void. 

 

A girl's voice breaks through her oblivion, muffled- like she's underwater, and the voice is above her. Despite her effort, Katara can't open her eyes, can't move, can't respond to the voice. The girl yells again, and she can't help but feel like the voice is familiar, so very familiar. The blackness fades, as Katara's vision is illuminated by a light blue glow, almost too bright to behold- but impossible to escape. The voice is quite obviously distressed now, a shrill girl's cry she can't put a name to, but she knows it. The light has become a blinding white. 

 

\--------

 

With a gasp, she tears herself out of unconsciousness, sitting upright. She can't seem to catch her breath and her heart is pounding. Another dream, another nightmare. Thankfully, it is still only dawn, and no one will have noticed her absence. 

 

_ What a strange dream that was _ , she thinks. It's quite different from her usual nightmares. 

 

She struggles to her shaking feet, feeling very cold even with her sealskin furs wrapped over every inch of her body. She grimaces; she's never usually this cold. She turns towards the sunrise, and the sea- no, that isn't right, because instead of the sea, Katara finds herself facing the path to her village whence she came. With dawning horror, she looks at the sunrise- which was not a sunrise at all, but a sunset. She had slept through the entire day. She never said anything last night about where she would be. 

 

"Oh, Sokka!" She breathes this quiet exclamation like a prayer and begins running, snow and ice crunching beneath her fur-lined boots. Her older brother was her last lifeline, her last anchor to a time where their family was whole, before their village had been burned halfway to the ground. A time before the Fire Nation had attacked their lands. A time long passed.

 

\--------

 

“Katara! Where the hell have you been?” Katara cringes at her brother’s angry tone. She knows his anger is fueled by fear and concern, and she understands. Chief Hakoda, their father, and Kya, their mother- both gone, though their father’s absence would not be permanent. It has been two long years since his battalion had left to defend the North against the Fire Nation raiders. Two long years since the two of them had stood on the frozen shore of the village, clutching each other’s hands and wiping away the crystals forming on their eyelashes. 

 

“Sokka! I’m so-” The rest of her apology was cut off as her older brother enveloped her in his crushing embrace. 

 

“By the moon and sun, Katara! I’ve been out of my mind wondering where you were! Gods, you scared me, sister,” He pulls her close for a moment more, then releases her with a sigh of relief. “Where were you?” His grey eyes search her face for an explanation, worry creasing his brow in a way that reminded her of her chieftain father. She debates lying to him, to ease his worries which, in her opinion, he was far too young to have- but it wouldn’t do them any good to omit the truth.

 

She took a deep breath. “The nightmares are back, Sokka, I haven’t slept in-” Her voice cracks, to her surprise and humiliation, “-in  _ days _ , but I was so t-tired-” hot tears welled in her eyes, spilling down her face, leaving thin trails of dampness on her cheeks. Sokka’s face softens, but the crease between his eyebrows remains. He was expressive to a fault, and Katara could read him like a book. He hushes her, pulling her back in to cry on his shoulder. She surrenders to the tears that she’s too tired to hold back any longer. 

 

Sokka supports her, holds her, saying “I know, Katara, I know. I have them too, you’re not alone.” She sobs harder, saying in her tear-choked voice, “But you’re so- so  _ okay _ , you don’t b-break down like this! I’m not strong like you are!” He pulls back, holding her shoulders to keep her upright. “That’s ‘cuz I’m older,” he says, with a hint of humor in his voice, “and men don’t cry.” 

 

Sniffling, she swats him lightly on the arm, unable to force down a watery smile. “Right, so that time you fell off the roof of gran-gran’s hut-”

 

“Let’s not dwell on the past,  _ dear sister _ ,” he cuts in hastily. “You gotta eat something anyway.” He flashes a quick ‘stern’ look at her- how could anyone take him seriously?

 

She returns his gaze with a watery smile- then frowns. “Unless you went hunting today, I don’t think there’s any food at home.” Sokka’s expression of disappointment is almost comical. His face wilts like a flower in the desert. “Kataraaaaa…” She rolls her eyes.

 

“It’s fine, really. We can do a little bit of late-night fishing, okay?”

 

\--------

 

On the water, Katara feels serene. Almost whole again. Sokka is paddling with one oar, switching sides after every stroke to keep them in a straight line. His fishing rod lies at the bottom of their boat, waiting until they get to their special fishing spot. The quiet splash of the oar hitting the water is calming. Katara can feel the energy of the water around them, tapping into it with her  _ qi _ \- her spirit’s energy. Using that, she can manipulate water- in theory, any liquid- and ice with concentration and movements of varying complexity. It’s a form of martial arts called ‘waterbending’ that Katara is barely acquainted with, because she is the last waterbender in the Southern tribes and there is no one to train her formally. As a result, her self-taught techniques are unrefined and unreliable. But she can do a few tricks effective enough to mess with her brother- which she plans to do now. 

 

Katara begins with the first thing her grandmother had taught her- clearing her mind. To access her  _ qi _ , she has to meditate, but a few calm breaths are enough. It’s easy to find her center in such a peaceful place. 

 

Once she feels ready, she raises her arms and moves them in a fluid motion over one side of the boat, feeling with her extended awareness- the water was like another part of her, that she could feel and manipulate. She stayed like that for a moment more, concentrating. Before she could begin her bending, however, something sliced through the water she was trying to move, disrupting the flow. Frustrated, she gets ready to begin again, when an idea strikes her. She closes her eyes, finding the familiar place of peace in her spirit, and waits. Dimly, she is aware of Sokka saying something- complaining about how the darkness would make it harder for him to see the fish- but she shuts it out. She is feeling, probing, searching for what had interrupted her a moment ago. As soon as she detects an obstacle in her current, she moves her hands in a whirlpool motion and the water follows her movements, creating a small eddy and trapping the object- a fish. Then, with a bit of coercing, she brings the water directly around the fish up to the surface, out of the water, and into the boat- and the fish with it. She lets it fall into the boat. The fish, however, has other ideas.

 

As soon as it hit the bottom of the boat it starts thrashing madly. Hearing the disturbance, Sokka whips around so fast he smacks Katara’s forehead with his fishing rod, causing her to shout in anger and jerk away from him. The boat rocks violently, soaking them both, and the fish escapes in the confusion. 

 

“ _ Katara! What the fuck?” _ Sokka is dripping and angry and hungry. It’s late, it’s dark, and she understands but when anyone raises their voice at her, it makes her blood boil. She’s too tired to hold back and all of her stress just explodes at the nearest person. 

 

“ _ Don’t yell at me!” _ , she screams (she’ll understand the irony later) “It’s not my fault you’re too stupid to sit on a boat!” His eyebrows draw together in hurt and confusion.

 

“Why are you so mad at  _ me _ ?” He shouts. “Stop being such a bitch! Leave it to a girl-” She doesn’t think, she doesn’t consider that maybe today was just as hard for him as it was for her, she doesn’t imagine how long he spent looking for her in this frozen wasteland. She just feels, and  _ reacts.  _

 

With a wordless scream of rage, Katara lifts her arms in a gesture of anger, feeling the power, pulling against the resistance she could feel beneath them, and  _ releases _ -

 

An explosion that leaves their ears ringing, as a massive iceberg hiding under the boat is split in half by her fury. It floats up to the surface, smashing their boat into pieces and sending both siblings flying in opposite directions. Katara lands heavily on her back, the air knocked out of her lungs. 

 

“No! Sokka!” She scrambles to her feet, leaning against the wildly rocking chunk of ice, and finds herself face to face with a boy. He’s not a water tribe boy, his skin is far too pale, and his eyes are closed. He is completely still, sitting cross-legged. Katara blinks and comes to her senses, realizing that the boy is  _ frozen in the ice! _ She screams again.

 

“Katara!” Sokka’s voice, thank the gods. “Over here!” She calls, “I found something!”

 

He says something that sounds suspiciously like “Is it a brand-new boat?” but she decides to ignore it. His voice is surprisingly close, and when he comes close enough for her to see, she notes that he isn’t completely wet. So he didn’t land in the water, good. That could have been very bad.

 

“Look at this!” She points to the ice, clear like a sheet of glass- very unusual for naturally formed icebergs. Sokka stares, open-mouthed, at the boy. 

 

“Is he dead? What am I saying, of course he’s dead. You can’t be alive in ice, there’s no air,” he looks at his sister, “Right?” For a moment, Katara can’t find her voice.

 

“Only one way to find out,” she says. Sokka stares at her incredulously. Then he looks back at the boy. And back at her. He sighs.

 

“This is insane,” he mutters, and pulls his machete off his back. He raises it above his head and swings with all his might. 

 

It takes many swings of his blade to break away enough ice so that they could even touch the boy, but on his last swing a piercing blue light erupts from the crack in the ice. Falling back with a cry of surprise, Sokka pushes Katara behind himself. The boy, still sitting in his serene position, has glowing blue arrows running all over his body- one pointing down his bald head and one on the back of each hand. His eyes- now open- are also shining with the same blue light. The light grows brighter, illuminating a dark shape underneath the boy, and the ice starts to crack and fly off in pieces. Seeing what is about to happen, Katara yanks her brother down by his hood and covers her face with her arms. With a mighty  _ BOOM, _ the iceberg explodes into a million shards of ice, showering them in bits of icy glass. 

 

When she moves her arms from over her eyes, she is met with a most enchanting sight- the blue light has become a beacon directed into the sky, a solid beam of light that seems to go on forever. As soon as it had come, it disappeared, leaving them to adjust to the semi-darkness once more. Katara hears a small  _ thud _ in front of her, and finds that a crater has been blasted into the ice, and the boy, clothed in thin robes, lay at the bottom.

 

\--------

 

Piercing eyes, like intensely gray-blue chips of ice. A stray lock of thick black hair. Light brown skin. This is what registers first in his mind. These individual features coalesce into one image, one face of a girl who stares at him in alarm. His sluggish brain can't tear his half-lidded eyes away. 

 

Everything is so unfocused, so cold. The girl is saying something, but she sounds so far away. A boy on the cusp of manhood peers at him from beside the girl. They look surprisingly alike- brother and sister, maybe. Their breath comes out in little puffs of vapor as they speak, noises he can't make sense of. Their faces are framed by the white fur lining of their blue coats, hoods obscuring their faces to anyone who was not directly underneath them- like he is now, lying flat on his back.

 

It's a vulnerable position, and Aang isn't stupid. Yeah, sure, he's like, 14- but not stupid. His right arm is at his side. He curls his hand into a fist and raises it slightly, bent at the elbow. The two people are watching him carefully, murmuring to each other without taking their eyes off of him. When his fist is about five inches from the ice, he suddenly slams it back down, using the arctic winds to force his body upwards. Once in the air, Aang attempts to twist around like a cat and land on his feet, but the muscles in his torso scream in protest and begin to lock up. Instead of landing on his feet, ready to defend himself, he hits the ice with a cry of pain, and collapses on his side. The world is blurred by the tears in his eyes, tears of pain and frustration and confusion. The whiteness of the snow and ice and sky is blinding and he hates it, he hates being weak and defenseless, he hates how badly he wants to run away. He hates the quiet sob that convulses his chest, escaping through his gritted teeth into a puff of steam, instantly dispersed by the violent winds. He hates defeat. 

 

Only a few days ago he had fled from the Air Temple, and the shame still burned him. Fighting through the haze, Aang focuses on the people clambering down into the freezing crater. The air swirls around him, weaving over the landscape like a river, but he doesn't have the strength to alter its course. For now, he can only lay still and listen. 

 

"...wearing a goddamn bedsheet, he’ll die in another ten minutes if we don't do anything." The boy is speaking. Presumably to the girl, who may or may not be his sister. 

 

"What can we do? I can't waterbend us out of every mess you land us in!" So the girl's a bender. Aang wiggles the fingers on his left hand. At least, he thinks he does. He can't quite feel them. 

 

"That's not what I mean, Katara! You saw it too, this kid's got some weird magic- just like you!"

 

"By the moon, Sokka, it's not magic, it's just a talent! Stop being an ass just because I can do it and you can't!"

 

"Oh, is that where we're going now? You really wanna have this fight here, floating on a chunk of ice with a totally comatose stranger?  _ We don't have time for this shit right now! _ "

 

A pregnant pause. A sigh. The girl speaks again, quieter now, more calm. "Alright. Fine. What do you suggest we do?"

 

"We need to either get him to safety or kill him," The boy’s frankness prompts Aang's eyes to fly open in fear. "-and we have to decide now otherwise he'll die no matter what. Another thing: you see his tattoos? I recognize them from gran-gran’s old books. They're traditional Air Monk designs. Since that's impossible, he could be a Fire Nation spy. Or something."

 

"I... I don't want to kill him. Not until we're sure. And what he did a minute ago, it looked like it could've been real airbending." 

 

"It's been a hundred years since the beginning of the war. And you know as well as I do who the first casualties were." The ice is simultaneously burning and numbing his skin. He is too weary to shiver.

 

"...Let's try to save him. For now."

 

There was a rustling of cloth, and Aang felt himself being lifted. Were he stronger, he could have warmed himself with his own breath and a bit of bending. Instead, he was helpless. Two strong arms lift him off the ice to lay down the furs, then set him back down to swaddle him up. The warmth is practically a religious experience. 

 

"Oh gods, Sokka- look at this."

 

"What's up-  _ what the fuck is that? _ "

 

"It's gigantic! I see horns, and- fur? Maybe some kind of buffalo..."

 

"Buffalo do not have six legs, Katara!"

 

Sudden clarity finds Aang's mind.  _ Appa... _

 

"What did you say?"

 

"I didn't-"

 

"Not you, Katara. The kid. He said something."

 

Had he said that aloud? Maybe Aang wasn't as lucid as he thought. Appa could help them, though. Appa could fly them off this frozen piece of hell. He tries his best to make words with his weak voice. 

 

"Appa... My... Chain. Bison. Flying bison. Don't... Hurt him, please..." He wheezes from the effort. Aang’s world is fading. He won’t be conscious for much longer.

 

The boy’s voice. “Gods, he really is just a kid. We have to do something.”

 

\--------

 

“...I can turn the ice around the bison back into water. But if it attacks, we’re finished.” Katara says, cautiously. She could- it would be hard, but she could do it. She looks at Sokka, who is looking at the boy, biting his lip in thought and hugging his thin clothes around his body. He meets her eye. “Do it.”

 

She takes a deep breath, clearing her mind of all the fear and distraction. In order to manipulate the ice, she must be fluid, like water, and firm, like ice. It’s a tricky balance to maintain, but she doesn’t have the luxury of time or second chances. When she thinks she has it, after a few moments of breathing, she moves into her stance- head bowed, arms raised in front of her, in a sort of sideways lunge. She holds her muscles tightly, frozen and solid. Then, feeling her energy reaching out to the block of ice, she relaxes slightly and begins a sort of dance, using her upper body and arms in a flowing movement as her feet step lightly to the right, and then the left, and back to the right, bringing her closer to the solid ice and the beast trapped within it. Letting the energy build between herself and the ice, she moves faster, smoother, preparing for the final strike. She stands directly in front of the entombed beast. Her eyes close. She lays her hands gently on the frozen mountain.

 

The final blow is not dealt by her body, but by her mind. She pushes her fluid energy out of herself and into the ice, coaxing it into a more relaxed, liquid state. It’s only barely enough, but the ice turns to water, flowing down in rivulets at first and growing to a small river, sluicing off the thick pelt of the giant bison. Katara lets out a long breath, and assumes a neutral stance. She opens her eyes.

 

In front of them stands a majestic creature. Long, creamy-white fur, clumped from the water, accentuated by dark markings. It’s eyes are brown and soft, and Katara wonders how she could have ever feared this gentle beast. Its markings are prominent, a dark brown arrow on its forehead as though someone wanted to point out its huge velvety nose, and vertical stripes on its sides, against the lightness of its pelt. The horns are sharp but the massive teeth are blunt- meant for chewing leaves and grain. Katara, with her head still bowed, raises her arm in front of her, palm out and flat in a gesture of peace. 

 

A cloud of steam escapes the bison’s nose and it leans forward to catch her scent. A deep rumble, like a pack of polar lions all growling in unison, seems to shake her to her bones. Katara opens her eyes wide. She can feel its hot breath on her neck.

 

“So I guess you’re Appa,” Sokka’s voice breaks through her reverie, startlingly casual. She whips around to face him. He’s holding the limp boy in his arms, wrapped in his own heavy furs. He’s shivering. “If you want to save your master, you’ll have to cooperate with us. We need to get back to the mainland.” Looking the bison directly in the eye, he steps forward.

 

Katara sighs in exasperation. “Sokka, there’s no way it understands you. It’s an animal.” Sokka makes a nodding gesture, prompting her to look back at the animal in question. With another deep grumble, it kneels with its first four legs; its intentions are clear. It is even wearing a huge saddle, buckled around its broad back.

 

Sokka smiles, but it’s an awkward experience since his teeth are chattering. “Let’s go f-for a ride.”

 

\--------

 

“Y-you know, for a  _ flying _ b-bison, you’re pretty earthbound.” Katara rolls her eyes at her brother. He doesn’t know how to shut up.

 

“I’d like to see you try to fly after being frozen in a block of ice for an indefinite amount of time.” The bison, Appa, had reins tied around his horns, but they seemed mostly for show since he didn’t respond to them in the slightest. He was pretty good at following directions though. Or maybe he wasn’t listening at all. It was impossible to say for sure. 

 

Sokka said something, but his chattering teeth rendered him completely incoherent. Katara rolls her eyes.

 

At the present moment, they are riding on Appa. He didn’t seem bothered by the frigid water he was currently swimming through. He didn’t seem bothered by anything, really. Katara is seated in front, guiding (or she thinks she’s guiding) the swimming flying bison though the water to her village. In the north, where landmarks can be scarce, tribespeople generally used the stars for directions, and that’s what Katara is doing now. She isn’t as good as Sokka, but he’s a little busy keeping himself and the boy from freezing to death. So she’ll have to make do. 

 

What feels like a tiny cold feather lands on her eyelash. She looks up at the sky. It has begun to snow.

 

After about ten more minutes of quiet shivering, Katara sees the mainland. It’s only thirty feet away, but she can’t see very far in the dark- even less, now that it’s snowing.  _ That’s how we got so lost, _ she thinks. They must have gone much farther out than they had thought. On the shoreline, Katara hops off the huge saddle, landing in the shallow water. Sokka slides the bundle of foreigner off the bison slowly, letting Katara transfer the weight to her back while he climbs down, and takes the boy piggy-back style.

 

Appa hauls himself onto the frozen beach, legs shaking with effort. Sokka and Katara exchange a look, thinking the same thing. He won’t last much longer either.

 

“Come on!” Sokka shouts. His voice cuts through the freezing air, making Katara jump. She wants to be mad, but she sees what he’s doing. When the cold sets in, it makes you sleepy, and that’s very dangerous. Katara herself could have died if she hadn’t fallen asleep in daylight. Sokka is just trying to keep the group awake. “It’s not far now!” Her voice is snatched away by the wind, but she hopes someone hears. She’s not as motivational as her brother.

 

Appa roars in what sounds like frustration, but the arctic gusts carry it off, making him sound muted and far away. They trudge on. A glint of light makes Katara look up, and she gasps.

 

“Sokka! A light!” Through the snow, a lone point shone. She had never been so relieved to see lamplight. “Sokka?”

 

Katara turns around to see Appa standing still, eyeing her intently from a few feet away. “What do you want? Where’s Sokka? Where’s the boy?” Her heart pounds. She asks again, louder, “ _ Where is he?” _ There’s a wall of blackness on all sides. Katara feels her knees give out. The impact is jarring, her knees are in pain, and she thinks she bit her tongue on accident. 

 

“ Katara! ” A quiet voice drifts through the storm. A woman’s voice. Could it be…? “ _ Mom!! _ ” Katara screams into the wind. She tastes blood. Yeah, she definitely bit her tongue.

 

“ Katara! ” The voice is coming from behind her. She turns, her knees seem to stick to the ground for a second before she can drag them behind her; the blood that soaked through her parka had frozen to the ground. The lamplight is so close now. It’s all she can see. Everything is blindingly white. 

 

\--------

 

Aang wakes up looking at the roof of a tent- from the inside. It’s quite warm in here. He struggles against his aching muscles to a sitting position. He really needs to meditate. And stretch. 

 

He finally has the chance to really take in his surroundings. He was laid on the floor of a tent (or hut?) made of hide, on a bed of furs in one corner. More of a nest, honestly. There was a small fire going in the center of the shelter. Looking around, he sees that there is a skeleton structure of a hut, wooden beams and metal rods lashed together with… Sinew? Aang decides not to think about it too hard. Over the frame was draped many hides, stitched together with the fur facing outwards, where he could not see it. The only exit from the hut was low to the ground, covered in cloth to keep out the cold. 

 

It’s pretty bare in terms of furniture, besides a wooden table and chairs, a set of drawers made of carved driftwood, and two more bedrolls, parallel to the one he was in. Someone else must sleep here. So where were the other occupants? A few weapons are leaning against the table, and a large folded pile of dyed-blue clothing takes up the floor space at the foot of the bedrolls. What looks like a tribal headdress made out of a wolf head rests on the drawer set. Aang shudders.

 

Growing up with the monks had taught Aang that all life is sacred. He doesn’t eat meat or wear animal furs, and being surrounded by all these animal products is really unsettling. Even the fire was fueled primarily by animal fat. Did these people even know about firewood? Wait. Oh. He supposes there aren’t very many plants in the tundra. Hm. 

 

Shakily, Aang gets to his feet. He’s not sure what to do with himself- what will he find when he steps outside? Is he a prisoner here? Water Tribes were generally peaceful, but they could be territorial and he  _ was _ technically trespassing. He also isn’t sure if he’s in the North or the South, and their cultures are significantly different. Aang is about to approach the door, but stops when he hears footsteps crunching in the snow outside. He debates pretending to be asleep again but there isn’t time to do anything before the hut’s curtains are pushed aside and someone pokes their head in.

 

It’s a boy who peers in at him. His skin is darker than Aang’s, but not drastically. His hair is in a small ponytail atop his head and the sides are cut short, his jawline and chin are dusted with little hairs indicating his imminent maturity. With a start, Aang recognizes him as the boy who had found him in the cold. He still couldn’t remember much detail from the incident that had brought him there, but the boy’s face is distinct in his memory. His grey eyes search Aang in a calculating way, then meet his own. The boy steps into the hut fully.

 

He’s a good six or eight inches taller than Aang. His body is draped in furs and dark blue clothes, secured by a belt with many pouches and a scabbard at his left side. His jaw and cheekbones are defined and his nose is sort of flat, indicative of his indigenous lineage. 

 

“My name is Sokka, of the Southern Water Tribe. Me and my sister found you and brought you here.” Sokka’s voice is tight, and he looks a little irritated. Mistrustful. “Now that you’re awake, our tribe would like to talk to you, and- ask you some questions. Follow me, please.” He turns and leaves the hut as quickly as he had come. Aang has no choice but to follow. 

 

Outside the hut is bitingly cold. Aang takes a deep breath and exhales, creating a pocket of warm air around himself. Much better. The hut he was sleeping in was somewhat removed from the other huts, and smaller too. The main grouping is where Sokka leads him now, ten or more huts in a crescent moon shape and one big communal structure in the middle of them. They are all surrounded by a wall of snow and ice. The bigger structure is where they enter, Sokka holding the curtain aside so that Aang can enter before him. Inside this building is a much larger fire and many wooden chairs, occupied by several women who sit as though seated on a throne. An elderly woman in the central seat speaks first. By the lines etched in her face and the platinum shade of her hair, Aang can tell that she is quite old indeed.

 

“Welcome, stranger, to the Southern Water Tribe. I am Valka, honorary chieftess while our Chief Hakoda is at war.” Aang places his left hand, held in a fist, against the flat palm of his right hand and bows. It’s a gesture of reverence and peace that he hopes she acknowledges. “Unfortunately, in a time of war, we must be wary of all strangers who pass through our land. Young man, will you tell us who you are and where you come from?” The council of women watches him without emotion. It must be a local tribe war, because Aang hasn’t heard of any conflict lately and the men are all absent- on the battlefield, it would seem. He has no doubt they are telling the truth.

 

“Greetings, women of the Southern Water Tribe. I’m sorry to trespass on your land, I must have become more lost than I thought. My name is Aang, of the Southern Air Temple. You have my utmost gratitude for the hospitality you have shown me.” He bows again. “May I ask something of you in turn?” Valka nods solemnly. 

 

Aang takes a deep breath. “I rode here on a flying bison. His name is Appa, and he’s pretty hard to miss. He’s, uh, big, and white? Have you seen him?” Valka smiles.

 

“As a matter of fact,” she says, in her old-lady voice, “Sokka here can take you to him. He’s been caring for your beast while you were asleep. But before you go-” Aang had already turned towards the boy who brought him here; Sokka, “May I ask what you were doing at the Southern Air Temple?” Valka looks genuinely interested, not malicious or joking in any way, so he is confused by the question. Aang furrows his eyebrows, unsure- maybe she’s messing with him? 

 

“I… I don’t understand the question, Chief Valka. I live there, with the rest of the Air Nomads.” Maybe the Nomads had never come to the South Pole. That seems odd, since they travel frequently. But the whole council’s demeanour has changed. Their eyes are bright and intent. Did they think he was lying? One of the other women speaks, “When did you leave the temple? Do you remember?” 

 

Aang was starting to feel lightheaded. “Um… I left a few days ago, maybe a week? Why?” Valka exchanges a significant look with the woman to her right. They know something he doesn’t, they must. He looks back at Sokka, looking for any sign of familiarity or comfort, but the tribesman offers none. His face is expressionless. 

 

“Young man,” a woman to Valka’s left begins, sardonically. “The Air Nomads have been dead for almost one hundred years now.” Another woman cuts in with a gasp, “Taika!” 

 

He can’t breathe. They’re lying, they have to be. He saw Gyatso last week! That’s why he had to leave, the other monks wanted him to have a new teacher, but Gyatso loved him most. Aang didn’t want a new teacher. He just wanted to be a  _ kid! _ Why can’t he have that?

 

“You’re lying!” The force of his own voice surprises him, but he doesn’t back down. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sokka unsheath his saber. The council looks worried, confused. And a little bit scared.

 

Scared of  _ him. _

 

Aang turns and bolts out of the hut. “Appa!” He’s hyperventilating. “Appa, where are you?” A familiar deep roar comes from a stable to his right. He sprints, shouting for his companion. He gets to the giant wooden doors and finds them locked. He pulls at the handles in desperation, shaking the sliding doors to no avail. Another frustrated roar comes from inside. Someone yanks him from behind. His arms are pressed to his side and despite his struggles, he his forced onto the ground, back against the ice. Holding him down is the girl from before. She’s yelling too, trying to get through to him.

 

“Please calm down! Appa is safe, we had to put him in there so he wouldn’t freeze to death!” How does she know Appa’s name? 

 

“ _ Who are you? Get off!” _ He is kind of losing it, Aang admits. He stops struggling- it’s not like she’s holding a knife to his throat. They’re both breathing heavily from the little scuffle.

 

“Woah, hey. I’m Katara, I found you frozen in an iceberg. This is one of the Southern Water Tribes” She stares at him. The silence between them is mutual as Aang studies her. She looks really… Wow, um, good? Her dark hair is tied back in a bun except for two locks on either side of her forehead that hang down, pinned into the bun. It’s a pretty complicated hairdo for a kid living in a village of like, twenty people. 

 

Hesitantly, she says “...Now it’s your turn. Who are you? What are you doing?” He’s jerked back into reality. Dammit.

 

“I’m uh, Aang. From the Southern Air Temple. Right now I’m running, I think.”  _ Congratulations, you sound totally stupid!  _ Aang cringes. The girl releases him (she had a pretty firm grip) and stands, brushing the snow off her furs. She offers him a hand.

 

“You don’t have to run, no one here is going to hurt you. I promise. Okay?” He takes her hand and she pulls him back onto his feet. Aang nods. “Besides,” Katara continued, “You look like you could use a decent meal. Come back to my hut and I’ll fix you something to eat. Sound good?” Another nod. Katara smiles. 

 

“Follow me!” She begins to lead him away from the livestock shed. His step falters.

 

“But Appa-” 

 

“He’s better off in there! We can’t fit him in the hut, and you don’t want him to freeze.” She has a point, and he concedes. He concentrates on a feeling of comfort and a thought:  _ Hang in there, buddy. I’ll come back for you. _ In return, he feels a reassuring sort of caress at the edge of his mind. Appa, his spirit chain, would wait for him.

 

\--------

 

Aang ends up in the same hut he woke up in- apparently Sokka had (at his sister’s behest) brought him into their own shared hut. It was just the two of them, the only kids in the village over the age of seven. There was no sign of any parents living here, but he didn’t want to pry so he left that subject alone. Having been raised by monks, Aang himself had never known any parents. He was never bitter about it though, after all, you can’t miss what you haven’t had. 

 

Katara has brought with her some dried meat from the community hut- they all store their food in one place, and they all share and contribute to the stockpile. It’s a good system, Aang thinks. He’s starving, but Katara told him that anything too filling would probably make him sick. Baby steps, she said. 

 

She gave him strips of dried fish and kept the other meats for herself- realizing Aang was a vegetarian, she told him that produce was very uncommon on either Pole, save what they traded. All the trade produce was pickled or preserved in some way, and only used in times of need. They had compromised at fish.

 

“How come you can eat fish, but not other meat?” Katara waited to ask until she had finished chewing. She was very polite, and Aang felt like some kind of barbarian next to her. Manners become a secondary concern when your stomach has been turned into an endless void.

 

“Actually…” Aang stops eating for a moment. “Huh. I never thought about that. We- the Air Nomads- we don’t eat meat because we don’t condone killing another living thing. But we were always allowed to eat fish. We usually ate it raw, with cut-up vegetables and seaweed. And rice. We eat a  _ lot _ of rice.”

 

Katara was an avid listener. Not like a lot of people he had spoken to in his life, who smiled and nodded but but didn’t really pay attention. No, she absorbed information and responded to his words with questions of her own. Her eyes sparkled with intrigue and her eyebrows lent so much expression to her face that it was almost comical. It was… Nice. Really nice. He told her about places he’d been, people he knew, anything he could think of to keep her eyes on him like that. He didn’t want this to end. He didn’t want to be the outsider again, the untrustworthy stranger.

 

He didn’t want to be the Avatar. 

 

Unfortunately, the passage of time stops for no one- not even the gods. After an hour or so, the dried meats long since eaten, Katara had to excuse herself to begin her chores. Offering a smile, she left Aang in the hut with orders to get some rest. He didn’t want to rest- hadn’t he rested already? Rest is boring.  _ You know what isn’t boring? Penguin sledding. _ Penguins live in the Arctic, right? This could be totally fun. Not a distraction from his worry over what that woman said about the monks. Nope.

 

Aang pokes his head out of the tent-flap. Katara in nowhere in sight, but a group of kids, the eldest no older than six or seven, are playing in the snow, swaddled in their cumbersome fur parkas. He wonders if they’ve ever been penguin sledding. Maybe they could show him how. He breathes a pocket of warm air around himself.

 

Aang steps out of the hut fully, and is immediately confronted with the gazes of five or six little kids. Orange and yellow clothes kinda stand out in the Arctic. He never thought much about his clothes, but they are significantly noticeable in both color and style. Very definitely out of place. Hm.

 

He feels like the outsider again, as he walks quickly past the staring children. Inviting the air to his sides, he uses it to lift him over the wall that surrounds the village. He lands lightly, momentarily chilled before he can establish his warm air-pocket again. He looks around, getting his bearings. To his right, the landscape seems to drop off- that must be the shoreline. Penguins eat fish, so it stands to reason that he would find some there. He crests a hill of snow- a snow dune?- and sees the ocean below him. He descends towards the shore. The natural winds are dismantling his protective pocket and he’s hard-pressed to keep it up. 

 

It requires some concentration, but not so much that he doesn’t hear the crunch of little footsteps behind him. Aang glances over his shoulder, expecting Sokka come to threaten him or something, and instead finds three timid faces peering over the top of the snowy hill he had just stood on. 

 

The children, recognizing they had been caught, stood up. Three small boys charge down the hill towards him, apparently having no qualms about leaving the village without permission or following a total stranger. They are clumsy in their too-big fur lined parkas, as they barrel towards Aang with no indication of stopping. The fastest one is hollering in excitement, the second one is considerably larger than the other two, and the third one is small and nervous. 

 

Aang expected them to stop, honestly, so he is totally unprepared for impact. The first boy, the ringleader, tackles him around his stomach, the big one lands on top of the first, and the last one tripped and fell into the pile face-first. WInded, Aang struggles to sit up under the combined weight of the three boys. The boys are giggling hysterically, and Aang wants to laugh with them, even though he doesn’t know what was so funny. 

 

“Um-” He is immediately cut off by the excited children. 

 

“I’m Oso!” Shouts the first boy. His grin is wide and his teeth are a little crooked. Stray brown hairs peek out from under his hood. His eyes are big and brown. 

 

Aang has no time to reply before the largest boy announces “My name is Burro!” in a proud voice. “It means ‘stubborn’!” Burro is a bit chunky, but he looks very happy.

 

“And I’m Lobo!” The littlest boy squeaks. 

 

“Uh, Aang.” He’s a bit overwhelmed. “What are you guys doing out here?” 

 

Oso, who seems to be the head of the trio, answers right away. “We’re coming to play with you!” Aang blinks. He’s surprised, and (secretly) a little touched.

 

“You have no hair,” says Lobo, “like my gramma!” and breaks off into little squeaky giggles. 

 

Burro is standing, his head reaching Aang’s shoulder, poking at his tattoos. “What are these?” 

 

Aang can’t help but feel self-conscious as he explains. “These tattoos mean I’m a master airbender. They show the flow of my  _ qi _ through my body, which is what I use to bend. It’s like, spiritual energy.” The three boys stare with wide eyes. “Technically you’re supposed to complete thirty-six tests to earn them, but I created a new technique and it counted as one, so I only had to pass thirty-five of the challenges.” 

 

“You really are an airbender!” Aang flinches from the loud voice in his ear. Oso doesn’t have a volume lower than ‘shout’, apparently. “You can win the war!”

 

“Yeah!” Burro says, “Aang can kill the Fire Lord!” Aang sputters.

 

“What are you even saying?” He’s totally baffled. He doesn’t kill people, first of all, much less the Fire Lord, who hasn’t done anything wrong to his knowledge. Was everyone here just crazy?

 

Lobo looks at him with serious eyes. “The Fire Nation, Aang. They started a war. Before I was born. Before Valka was born, even.” The child, only six or seven, is strangely sober, his eyes glitter- almost black, compared to the grey from only a moment before-  and his voice echoes in Aang’s mind. “Is there no war where you come from?”

 

“I… I don’t know. I haven’t been home in a while, and I don’t know how long.” Aang is sitting cross-legged now, in a little circle with the boys seated likewise. “What do you know about the war?” He doesn’t feel like he’s talking to a child; but another person. Someone with a deeper understanding of the world.

 

_ “He’s doing the voice,”  _ whispers Burro, leaning towards Aang.  _ “He gets smart when he does the voice.” _ Aang furrows his brows, and moves his attention back to Lobo. The boy is quiet for a moment, thinking. 

 

“The best place to start is at the beginning, I think. Fire Lord Sozin. He was powerful, but not exceptionally so; and he craved that power he did not have. He knew he could launch an attack that would begin his path to total domination, but one thing stood in his way,”

 

The way Lobo looks into Aang’s eyes like he’s staring at his soul makes him shiver.  _ This is no ordinary child, _ he realizes. But what is he?

 

“The Avatar.”

 

_ He knows! _ Aang’s eyes open wide. 

 

“Master of all four elements, the gods’ energies inside one person, only they could inhibit Sozin’s victory. Avatar Roku had long since disappeared, and was presumed dead. The next Avatar would have to be an airbender; that’s how the cycle goes. So, knowing this, Sozin sets out to destroy the Air Nomads.” Aang’s heart has dropped into his stomach. He doesn’t know what happened next, but he can see where this story is going.

 

“The first casualties of the war were the airbenders. Sozin committed an act of unspeakable evil- genocide. Then, certain he had already won, he returned to his own nation and waged his war from the comfort of his palace until the day he died. His son after him, and the son’s son after that. From Sozin to Azulon to Ozai, the entire world has paid for one man’s greed. But not one of them has ever found evidence of the Avatar’s death, and it has made the Fire Nation increasingly nervous.”

 

Lobo looks at Aang with something akin to sadness. “Avatar Aang, you don’t want the responsibility because you don’t want to lose. We understand. But not fighting isn’t an option anymore.” The boy’s eyes glint, again fixing him with an intense stare. “You must save the world or die trying. Go first to the North Pole, and master waterbending. Then you must master earthbending. Train last with a firebending master, after having learned the rules and disciplines of the other elements. Fire is difficult to contain, and requires the utmost skill to learn.”

 

Aang has been speechless since ‘The Avatar’, and struggled to find his voice. “W-who are you?” He stutters. The boy smiles, but not in a playful or childish way, as would befit his face. 

 

“I am Lobo, the wolf spirit. I am the spirit of war, and the spirit of hard-earned victory. I am a friend you may soon need, Aang.” 

 

The boy blinks, his eyes grey once again and filled with curious delight. Aang looks to Burro and Oso for some kind of explanation, but they offer none. “That’s just the way he is,” says Burro, watching as Oso jumps back up to throw snowballs at Lobo. “He’s still our friend.” Aang wonders, as Burro joins the fray, how much knowledge the spirit Lobo has bestowed on these children without them even realizing that how powerful he was. They could tell he was different, but the significance of that difference appears to be lost upon them. 

 

Aang reflects on what he has just been told. First, he should return to the Southern Air Temple to see for himself that the monks were gone. Then, he would follow Lobo’s advice and travel to the North Pole. It will be difficult, and he will have to make many stops on the way, but Aang really doesn’t have much of a choice. End the war before more people get hurt. That is his mission now. 

 

Being a kid will have to wait.


End file.
